


Bring Your Buckets By The Dozen

by axumun



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axumun/pseuds/axumun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scent and feel of a hospital bed is hopelessly unmistakeable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Your Buckets By The Dozen

**Author's Note:**

> [PLEASE READ!] I wrote this on the Notes section of my iPod because at the time, I didn't have access to a computer. AO3 is being a bitch and won't let me italicize the flashbacks in this fic which will probably make reading it very confusing. I'm so, so, so sorry.

__

Who is that? Who am I? 

My blurry vision clears. A face appears, familiar, open. I feel my pulse quicken. Him. I know him. He's...  


I'm kissing him, all over his face, and he's laughing. He smiles, wide and amused, and he whispers my name.

What is my name?

*

Adam tilts forward in his chair slightly, rubs at his eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't do this right now."

He sees the woman's face soften, but doesn't fail to notice the disappointment in her gaze that she tries to mask. "You were doing so well," she offers.   


For the first time since meeting her, Adam feels as if the psychiatrist is putting on a persona for him, and it makes him fidget. He has no patience for people who can't just be straight with him.

"It sounds like your subconscious mind has blocked many details of the crash, but you - "

"Erm...Ms. - "Adam struggles to remember her name. "Ms. Michaels. I think it would be a lot easier for me to do this at home. Or maybe I can come another time? It's just too soon."

"Oh - of course. We can be done for today. You'll just need someone to drive you home-"

No. He needs his own surroundings right now - his own house, his own car.

"Miss." Adam's eyes go puppy-wide, the eyes no one stands a chance against, and it sickens him that he has to resort to pleading. "I'm completely conscious and coherent. I can drive home myself."

Ms. Michaels remains oddly stoic.

Adam digs into his pockets, huffing frustratedly. "If I could just find my keys..."

"Sir." Ms. Michaels stands up. Her tone is extremely cautious. Adam's brain can't file her away as a friend or a foe. "Do you know why you're here?"

Adam's head falls gently into his open palm, his eyes closed in deep thought again. "I was with him. With...Sauli." Images flood Adam's head. He lifts his gaze to the ceiling. "We were going out to dinner..."

"Mr. Lambert, we went over all this when you came in. I think your memory is severely damaged-"

"WHERE IS HE?" Adam's casual confidence is suddenly replaced with desperate panic. He shoots upward, his hands shaking and clutching at his hair, eyes wide with terror. "I don't...last I remember..."   


He sinks to the floor in a heap, defeated.

Then Ms. Michaels' cool hands are pulling him to his feet. Carrying him to the door...

*

I'm kissing him, he's laughing. Tugging at my hair. Reluctantly, he pushes me back. He says something but all I hear is static. I try to read his lips but everything goes blurry.

We're in my car. He's looking at me in that way of his, eyes sparkling. I look ahead and I see...

Wait. What are we doing?

There's a flash and a bang. But not like a gun. More like metal on metal, shattering glass...oh.

Oh!

*

The scent and feel of a hospital bed is hopelessly unmistakeable. Adam sees faces, eyes staring back. He's got questions, but he can't open his throat to speak.

He hears one of the doctors mutter bland reassurances to him, and he clings to any other clues he can find in their words: "There was an accident."; "You hit your head."; "Your...friend's in critical condition."

At that last one, he means to ask something like, "Can I see him?" (that aforementioned head injury makes it pretty hard for him to think logically) but all that he can manage is a grunt.

Later - though just how much later, he's not sure: hours, days... - when he opens his eyes again, he breathes out a long, relieved sigh at the sight of his mother's face.

"Mom!" Or, at least, that's what he means to say, before he clears his throat and finally regains control of his voice.

After a long embrace and some motherly nonsensical babble, Leila says, "We're getting you out of here."

*

It takes a while for Adam to put all the pieces in place. When he does, he realizes at last that he can't drive himself home since his car has been reduced to a heap of junk metal. Then he becomes acutely aware of the bandages on his head, the dull throbbing in his skull.

The moment Adam steps out of the hospital, he's swarmed by cameras and microphones. He pays them no attention, ignoring their irritating remarks and interrogations.

  
As they drive back to Adam's house, more pieces come together, and he's lost in thought, lost in himself.   


~

Kissing, laughing, pushing me away. He's telling me we'll be late if we keep this up.

My car. It's dark outside, the radio's blasting. Stoplight. I feel his eyes on me.

Flash. Bang.

...Then what!?

~

"Adam? Adam, are - "

His eyes snap open again. "Sorry. Could you say that again?"

Leila straightens her face. "The doctors just want you to take it easy for a couple weeks. The psychiatrist said to call if you remember anything."

Adam nods. "When can we see Sauli?"

His mom sighs. "It might be awhile, honey. He's not conscious yet."

She doesn't fight the ensuing silence, but Leila can sense the storm clouds rolling into Adam's mind.

"Mom." Adam slumps into his seat as they pull into his driveway. "I'm - "

Leila looks up at Adam when the car is stopped, her eyes searching and concerned. Adam's hands are covering his face, a rare display of insecurity. "Honey, you're what?"  


Adam takes a deep, steady breath. "I'm scared. Scared for him. I don't know what happened. And no matter how much I'm told what happened, it's not the same if I can't remember for myself."

Another embrace, more motherly cooing. "Just rest, Adam, it'll be okay. Do you want me to stay here?"

Adam contemplates this, then shakes his head. "I need to be alone."

*

Adam swallows a couple of the migraine pills that he's been prescribed as he flips through his phone, checking in with friends and going through his emails. He notices the headlines, all the stories on the Internet about the accident. Though celebrity gossip is typically something he's learned to avoid at all costs, he figures he's better off reading it in this case, for the sake of remembering something important.

Despite the holes in his memory, Adam can easily spot the rumors, the lies: one story claims that he and Sauli had gotten into a fight, which made Adam lose control of the car, causing the crash. Another says Adam had driven under the influence of alcohol, and a different one accuses Adam of staging the accident to boost album sales.

He sits back, closes his eyes. Now that his mind is a little clearer, he thinks back to what the doctors had told him, their words still stuck in his subconscious.

There'd been shards of glass embedded into his skin; he's lucky none of them got into his eyes or his mouth.

The deployed airbags had nearly suffocated him, and had knocked his head pretty hard against something - most likely the window or the center console - as a result.

Wait.

~

Flash. Bang. Something firm, something sharp. Pain. A scream.

Oh, God, screams.

Sauli!

Darkness. Voices. Sirens, lights. Someone's hand on my arm.

Darkness again.

~

"Hi, Ms. Michaels. I need to make an appointment."

*

"Sauli's awake."

*

"Ah, hi, Mr. Lambert. Have a seat."

Adam complies, avoiding Ms. Michaels' eyes for now.

  
Once they've properly greeted each other, Adam says, softly, "I saw Sauli yesterday."   


  
"Oh. How is he?"   


  
"I wanna say 'well'." Adam looks up with a small grin, which quickly fades. "He's healing really fast. But his doctors told me he remembers everything."   


  
"That must be very traumatic for him."  Silence follows for long, sharp moments as Ms. Michaels thinks hard about her next words. "While on the contrary, you're struggling to remember...For some reason, some of the memories he has of the crash were rejected by your subconscious."  


  
Adam nods absently. He understands - and any other time, he'd even be mildly interested - but there are other things on his mind than the inner workings of his brain.   


  
Sensing Adam's quiet urge to change the subject, Ms. Michaels asks, "When's he coming home?"   


  
"They say he should be discharged in a few days," Adam says, his voice hopeful.   


  
"That's good." Ms. Michaels puts on a friendly smile, folds her hands. "It must've been a relief to see Sauli. What did he say to you?"   


  
~   


  
Adam walks - stumbles - into the room, unable to tear his gaze from the hospital bed and its familiar occupant.    


  
"Sa-!" Adam all but rushes to Sauli's side, smiling uncontrollably. Sauli's eyes light up at the sight of him, despite his own wounds and bandages and the machines he's hooked up to.   


  
~   


  
...and apart from a few whispered terms of endearment, "We didn't say much of anything."   


  
*   


  
  


  
"Home." Sauli's throaty, broken whisper makes Adam's heart flutter.    


  
He's still got the bandages and some scars, and he's limping through their front door, but in the long run, Sauli's okay. They're both okay. And no matter what, okay is always better than critical.   


  
*   


  
Adam doesn't anticipate having to rest for so long - right before the tour, no less. He's forced to miss the first handful of shows, but as soon as he gets back on his feet, he does everything he can to make lost time up to the fans.   


  
Not much changes on the stage. His voice is as strong as ever, and he can still dance - fuck, he can dance. But there're still bruises under his clothes, half-healed wounds that no one sees. No one but Sauli.   


  
Interviews are especially tricky now, but fortunately, now  that Adam's touring again and the hype surrounding the album has died down, the majority of them are un-televised interviews for radio stations.   


  
Of course, the crash is a popular topic of conversation, but usually Adam can deflect these questions by explaining that his memories of that night are fuzzy. Plus, they're deeply personal. The media really doesn't need to know about the panic attack Sauli had suffered after the car stopped spinning, or what restaurant they'd made reservations for that evening, or who visited him in the hospital. Even honesty has boundaries.   


  
*   


  
  


  
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, while the bus is still rolling, Sauli relives the memories that Adam lacks, shivering and gasping in fear. He clings to Adam, who soothingly rocks him back and forth in his arms, shushes him, gently urges him to wake up.   


  
Adam always revels in that grateful smile Sauli gives when he finally does wake up and realizes it's all over, that they're together, safe.    


  
Other times, it's Adam who wakes up instead, imagining the worst, groping desperately at the opposite side of the bed to make sure Sauli's really here, really okay, until Sauli presses him back against the sheets, assuring Adam with lips and hands and lilting whispers that he's fine, just fine.   


  
This time, they wake up together, fully aware of the truth of the situation instead of flashbacks or worst case scenarios.    


  
They don't touch or speak; they can barely even see each other in the lack of light. But their renewed appreciation of each other's presence hits them both at once like a punch to the gut, hard enough to bring them to sudden tears.   


  
And in the silence of the tour bus, in the darkness of the room, both of them contemplate asking the other if they want to talk about this. Then they catch the light of each other's tear-rimmed eyes in the glow of the passing streetlights through the window, and simultaneously hold their tongues.   



End file.
